"Divided Attention" - Gregory de Rocher

It starts in your late fortiesFifties, sixties, or seventies.Your car keys are not in their assigned shallow bowlor your cell phone in your left shirt pocketwhere it always isusually.

So you retrace your late night movementshoping to regain the "ah hah" that will bring backorder into your morning.

Or you are preparing breakfastas you have for two or three or even fourscore yearsand wonder as you confidently openedthe left cupboard doorwhat is was you needed among the array of objectsStaring back at you, blankly.

Or you are reminded in a flashas you and your friends are guffawing over jokesof an even funnier one to share when the one in progressreaches its punch line and the laughter begins to subside.The one you were bristling to tell has sunkleaving not the least telltale ripple.

The drafts of forgetfulness,cold and remorseless,snatching the presentwe no longer inhabit.